Hands Spread Thin
by PrognisAldiev
Summary: In the wilderness outside the kingdoms, Grimm roam undaunted. Dust remains untapped, nature boundless, the occasional Nomads wandering. There are, however, monsters besides the blackened beasts stalking the lands after dark... (No heavy canon involvement, rating likely to escalate and title likely to change at some point)
1. Chapter 1

**|I won't be working on this at all until RWBY: Resolve reaches the choke point (as far as it can until the next volume of RWBY begins to air), but I thought I'd share this little bit in the spirit of Halloween. Happy Spook Day...|**

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The usual response to a strong odor is to recoil from it. Whether it be a laden perfume, a raw, burnt scent, or a galling stench, when that sense of smell is assaulted the reaction is to turn away –attempt to find more suitable air to breathe, escape such discomfort. Only when one is subjected to it over and over do they become accustomed to it; this can be said of all drastic sensations, like bright flashes or acquired tastes.

Growing used to something is common. Growing fond of it is not... and a fondness of this particular scent would be viewed as twisted and perverse by most anyone. The fresh tang of slaughter hung in the air, of blood and insides both freely cast across walls and floors as well as lazily gathering in the easiest places to flow after leaving the body to which it belonged. Tears were also shed in abundance, but that was merely an undertone to the lingering veil. Despite this, the steady rhythm of inhales was all that could be heard now within here, and contented ones at that. Darkness held dominance here, so when the door to the room opened, this powerful aroma was the first thing experienced by any in the doorway; this was why the two men performing this simplest of tasks were wearing handkerchiefs dampened with cold water, for lack of any better means to combat the smell.

The light that poured from beyond the threshold cut a long golden path through the shadows, the space revealed only a rusted metal floor with crimson staining every few inches. The drawn-in form of a person curled up at the end of the room could be seen, long black hair spilled out to the side into one of the many dark puddles. The men at the door moved inside a few feet, eyes trained on the lone figure, and set down a plate with food; bread, some water, and an apple, moving back to the door without turning their backs. Only from here did they speak, the leftmost raising his voice first; "There are no more for today. You're clean."

The figure inside the room limply shifted into a sitting position, revealing a frail and unclothed frame that looked fit to burst once drawing a deep breath, as if they were in a field of flowers and letting it out a satisfied sigh. One of the two men looked as if it made him want to vomit. They watched in silence, as they were supposed to, until what turned out to be a girl was up and crawling toward them at an alarming rate; they slammed the door as fast as they could muster and dropped the enormous steel bar across it. There were numerous loud thuds against the door, a few more dents added to the many already there, and just as soon the beating ceased. The one who spoke coughed once, getting his partner's attention and hardly affected by the turn of events. "Who should watch?"

"I'll do it. You go ask about the drops." The other answered. A nod from each, and they parted. The second fellow stood by the door, and after counting to thirty, slid back a strip of the door to view inside. They needed to be sure she ate.

He only had to peek inside for a moment, seeing even with this little light the silhouette of the girl within. She fit an entire apple into her mouth at once and crushed it between her jaws with a loud crunch, bits of skin and juice spraying from the fruit. She looked into his eyes with a mixture of hungry lust and primal fury... He shut the strip.

* * *

><p>The departing member of those two men stepped down from the wagon now housing a giant metal box, moving up the series of others not quite outfitted with such extreme means of containment yet. He took to one of the frontmost in their group; this was the closest thing to a house, having eavestroughs and sealable chimneys for when the caravan needed to stay put for long periods of time. He climbed into the driver's seat and knocked on the door leading into the back, not waiting long before hearing acceptance. Inside was a well-lit area with three tables at the back wall and on either side of the room, numerous shelves of Dust and tools both scattered haphazardly and stacked neatly in various places.<p>

The occupant of this wagon stood at a menacing height of a bit over six feet, and her demeanor was imposing. It was unnatural that her size both looked dangerous and fragile at once, as she towered above him but looked so thin... She turned to face him, and he wished she hadn't, still having a hard time suppressing the flinch brought on by seeing it. She either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. "Yes?"

He swallowed before he began. "Grimm are approaching faster, more concentrated. Tonight is the best chance to drop and go..."

"This is your opinion, or his?" Her voice was so alluring that it seemed almost physically impossible for these seductive vocals to come from the source that they did.

"Do you really have to ask?" He replied in second nature, swiftly regretting that decision. There was a slit down his face now, just a sliver of a cut starting at his lower eyelid coming down to his upper lip, caused faster than his eyes could follow or even acknowledge. The cut stung fiercely, and he only pulled back and held his face a moment after finding out it was there.

The woman here still stood ramrod straight, wide white eyes still showing little interest in him. "You know not to take that tone with me."

"Yes, Schaless. It won't happen again, I swear it." The man composed himself within seconds, narrowly saving himself further punishment. The injury to his face would never stop burning for the rest of his life; he knew this from the others she'd done it to, but having just one was actually fortunate. There were others that bore dozens, and in places they hadn't even known she could reach.

She faced the back table again, sparing him the image that would haunt his sleep for the next few nights. "The two younger ones can be left behind... I expect efforts to find more stock to be doubled."

"Yes, Schaless." He nodded carefully, and backed toward the door much like he had with the last girl he'd dealt with; not taking his eyes off until he was out and free of her presence. There was a few seconds to soothe the dull ache in the right side of his face, or at least try, with the damp cloth he still had before moving to the back of the wagons now.

The two wagons bringing up the rear were fortified scarcely, as an afterthought at the time they'd done so, and he scaled the side to slide open the larger door. Inside were several cells watched over by another like him, the jailbirds inside few. Of the eight in this wagon alone, two were filled; the kids were just shy of being in their teenage years, wearing improvised clothes from bits of rags and sacks that had come close to where they had been trapped. Dark circles hung under their eyes, fearing sleep. Red were the veins above these, fearing exhaustion. Grimy and weak from prolonged containment and lack of nourishment, they both scurried to the furthest corners of their cages when the sliding door opened.

The watchman and outsider exchanged nonverbal greetings. Keeping his vision from meeting either of the boys in the cells, he spoke with the guard and ignored the gasps; "These two are to be released... I spoke with the Schaless, and she gives permission."

"You spoke with her, all right..." The watchman said amusedly, poking fun at the new mark left by the encounter. "We move on in ten. I'll get these ones out ASAP."

Nodding, he left the watchman to his own tasks, but found a hand meekly clutching his shirt. The boy left of him was tearing up, blubbering. "Thank you... so much... Tha-..."

Tugging himself free, he couldn't suppress the frown on his face. The watchman laughed aloud this time. The mobile prison was devoid of him soon, but not soon enough in his opinion, as shown in his shameful stride.

* * *

><p>Holding the two boys by the hair, the watchman dragged them from their cells and out the back of the wagon. He moved from the group of archaic vehicles, chuckling a bit at the struggles and protests that they could walk themselves. The terror was starting to form again in the pits of their stomachs. He could tell... The trek lasted a good fifteen minutes, and two more individuals stood by a single, ten-foot post shining with lamplight at the top and halfway down. Similar lights could be seen in a perimeter spaced widely.<p>

"Finally dropping these two..." He said as he reached the light, the pair like him once again in appearance standing with four-pronged crossbows by the post. They nodded, the boys staring hopefully.

"Unbind their limbs over there; we'll do the rest." Nearly gone now, but still holding on, the glimmer in the eyes of the two boys flickered as they were forced to the edge of the light shed by the post, and promptly unbound. One smiled while the other looked at the watchman expectantly, curious as he simply walked away with a smug look. Once he was out of sight, the two by the post pointed their weapons at the children, who froze like prey.

"Run." Was all they uttered before loosing shots, the kids vanishing into the sparse forestry they had been released near. A few more bolts escaped their crossbows before they listened carefully, hearing the brush part for the frantic escapees. A tumult of distant howls suggested they had done their part, and soon they were folding up the post, removing the perimeter like the lights dying further on either side. They would go back to the caravans, the Grimm that were drawn to the victims kept with them now sufficiently distracted by the ones they'd freed. They would move on, putting a distance between they and the creatures until the beasts were attracted again.

"How much time?" One asked, slinging his crossbow over shoulder to hold the shrunken post in both hands.

"A few seconds for the bigger one. The smaller kid looked less shocked, so give him an hour or two –maybe..." A yell came to them, sounding distant as expected, but not distant enough for the sounds of gnashing teeth and disembowelment to be muted. These men had grown accustomed to the sounds, much like the other senses gone dull, and not a soul nearby was put off by the acts committed that night.

How else would they get through the next?


	2. Chapter 2

**Routine**

"All living things have aura, and that aura lets them sense your intent. You need to calm yourself... deep breaths. You're just taking what you need. Whenever you're ready..."

The deer stood unaware as his father's words softly instructed him. Deep breaths. Taking what he needed. Whenever he was ready. He shifted his hand held up at his side, feeling the weight of the knife, unable to get any more comfortable with it. Squinting, he took aim. The deer looked up, though not at the two of them; the sixth sense they'd just discussed. It was starting to feel aware of the danger now, and his muscles seized. Well after his chance had come and gone right before his eyes, he heard the crack of the gunshot right beside him, putting a bullet through the animal's eye.

"So," his father said, stepping out from their vantage point to the carcass, "What was it this time? Afraid it would catch the knife? Expecting a divine hurricane to intervene? Do you have to pee?"

"Fuck you, dad." This earned him a sour look.

Kneeling next to it, the middle-aged man hefted the heavy corpse over his shoulders, after dragging a slight ways from the brain scatter and excrement it left upon death. His mostly brown and red attire made from countless kinds of tanned hides crinkled in appearance but without noise, like a second skin. His goatee and hair were both a heavily darkened brown, so close to black it was nearly imperceptible without looking close. "This is the fourth time this month. If you have a problem with what I'm training you for, you should speak up; otherwise, we keep pushing you toward being a woodsman. Tell me what you want, Crispin."

Crispin Moccasey and his father, Medra Moccasey, began the climb back out of rough basin territory, up toward the only even path through these parts where their camp was. Crispin only looked a bit like his father at this young age of fifteen, inheriting the same hair color but in a shaggier, flatter style that clung to his head rather than the fluffy Wildman mane his dad had. His clothes were made up of more dyed linens with stitched segments and many patches, a mix of browns and dark oranges to blend in the fall. Even in spring, he preferred this wardrobe simply because he was a low-mover as Medra liked to put it; he crept up on prey, took to being out of mind with camouflage to the dirt and fallen leaves over actual cover. His shirt was a short-sleeved, low-collared one over a tighter long-sleeve, a black bandana loosely tied at his head just to keep the sweat from getting into his eyes. His pants were studded at the knees, and his shoes were made for traction.

Crispin took the lead with his father carrying the kill, sheathing one of his three hunting knives at his thigh while the other two were at the small of his back and diagonal over his chest. Catching a branch with one hand, he swung up from below and landed atop it in a crow's hunch. "I'm fine with being a woodsman. I just... It's too damn quiet."

"That's usually what you want when you're stalking your dinner." Medra said. Crispin picked some acorns dangling nearby and absently flung them at his father below one at a time, getting the man to actually start pointing his gun. Crispin smiled while dropping the obnoxious act, inching off the branch to fall in step ahead again.

"When it's quiet, it's too easy to think. I'll be getting ready to make a throw, but it's so silent that it feels like I have all the time in the world. I'll think about what could go wrong... and how I should do this to keep from screwing up, no matter what." Crispin ended his explanation. He still slouched as he gave his dad a glare. "It's nothing like those bullshit examples you brought up back there, either. You've told me about every real concern I can think of out here; Grimm, flash weather, predators, so on..."

Medra awkwardly slung the rifle over his shoulder again, having moved the deer to hang over the other and take aim until his son got the hint from a gun barrel. There had been a time where both of them had thought he wouldn't pull the trigger, but Medra had no problems leaving a graze on the boy now. They had gone over that hill once, with scars on both to prove it. "We'll just have to find some way to make you focus, then."

"That's the problem, actually. When I can hear it raining, I can zombie through all the chores and stuff without a second thought. I've been trying to figure out how to 'zone out' when we go on these food runs. So far, I got nada." Medra didn't look too keen on Crispin's self-improvement goal, but they both dropped it.

"So, uh... Vivily still making you proud, like I don't?"

A hand went to his father's face, blood from the deer along with it. No one batted an eye. "Not now, Crispin. Please."

"It's not that hard to just admit you'll only be happy with me once I kill something, you know." His father looked at him with oak-hued eyes, both angry and sad with that accusation but unable to say anything to it. Crispin shut his mouth and put more space between them both, as was custom lately.

This had been their problem for the past few years. Crispin had turned out to be gifted in many ways, but his aura refused to cooperate; Medra, who had once been a Hunter and the only one of their group with such skills, had wanted to train Crispin into being the next guardian that kept their nomadic unit safe from harm. He had fallen back on choosing someone else; Vivily Culversett, a girl who had come to join their roaming ranks at an early age, and showed promise both physically and spiritually. Crispin, who had still developed during the time Medra hoped to make him an unofficial Huntsman, began teaching him to be a woodsman instead. At some point long ago, these two terms may have meant the same thing, but now a woodsman was a person who ventured out into the wilderness to forage and hunt for food and materials while _avoiding_ Grimm, where Hunters dealt with that danger outright. Crispin would make sure they were fed, among other things –Vivily would keep them all alive, given his dad wasn't around to do it.

Breaking the tree line before a rather thick dirt trail, Crispin caught sight of their various caravans staked down for the sake of safety. The semi-circle of their vehicles contained a great deal of activity inside the curve, where there were fire pits for cooking stations and other temporary setups for work outdoors. Each and every person in the group had something to contribute, aside from the younger children; the nomads just shy of one-hundred strong were often accepted anywhere they went for their odd goods and trinkets, coming out of the blue and leaving just as soon. Vivily was strolling past, as she was supposed to circle the camp when Medra went anywhere.

"Doesn't look like your excursion went so well. Your father?" She said, a sing-song lilt to her voice that always seemed to bounce back and forth; reading her tone was really hard for sarcasm and sincerity alike. With a heavily layered getup of thick furs and bits of underlying armor such as chain mail, It was hard to appreciate any part of her physical femininity even if he wanted to... aside from her face which stunned just about everyone she met; she had these green eyes flecked with blue dots, and her features framed these startlingly pretty eyes with an image out of painted art. Short, curly locks of strawberry-blonde hair completed the look, and a set of very slender glasses seemed to magnify her key feature. At her waist was a sabre-like weapon, an heirloom of Crispin's family denied to him.

Jutting a thumb behind him, Crispin's expression dropped. "Bagged a full-grown doe, probably last you's a few nights. He'll make it up in a minute or two."

"You just left him to catch up to you in such a vulnerable state?" She hissed. He shrugged, turning toward the back end of the caravan formation and walking off without anything to say. Of course, she began to follow. "You need to start taking your work more seriously. Just because you weren't suited to this doesn't mean this job is any less important, Crispin."

"I am serious. Being a glorified errand boy is full of responsibility, you know." His own sarcasm was easy to notice, unlike hers, and she wasn't too fond of it. Vivily moved to his side, even as he tried to improve pace to keep her behind him. "Go do your rounds, or whatever. Take care of your own shit before you pester me about mine."

She gave him another dour look. "You know better than I do that we're in a safe area for the next day or two. You drew the map."

"And somehow, everyone thanks you and dad for being able to rest easy... It's not like I chart us a course away from all the teeth and claws." Crispin shooed her away, and she tried to catch the gesture in order to twist something and subdue him so he might listen. He slithered out from her grasp, and she sighed, hearing the fringe where she ran into Crispin rustle with the passage of his father.

"I'm serious, Crispin. You need to put your right foot forward sometime, sooner better than later."

He began juggling two of his knives closely followed by the last like this would convince her of his commitment, and she just stared at him with a displeased look before stomping off. She was soon within sight where his father arrived from the underbrush, and she helped him with the heavy animal before Crispin set aside the many knives, continuing on his way until he could find the very back cart. He could hear the telltale signs that his acquaintance was nearby upon poking his head in, but vision was poor. "Yo, Tatsu! I can't see you in here!"

The clinking of tools stopped, and out of the pile of assorted appliance parts in the caravan came a boy a bit older than he, sporting a set of grey overalls and a red T-shirt underneath. Grease stained his apparel as well as streaked his red hair, and he shielded his eyes from the light outside that he'd forgone for a poor substitute inside. This small lamp among other things were powered by a hand-cranked dynamo. "Hey, Crispy. How'd the trailblazing go?"

"Same as last time, really."

"Ouch." Tatsu replied. "I suppose you're here to hide out until your pop cools off?"

A smirk formed at the guess. "Would you be sticking around the guy?"

Tatsu nodded. "I see your point... here, check this out. I got that toaster to work."

"We don't even _have_ bread, Tatsu. Good job, though." They flanked the device, which he demonstrated could now generate heat. Tatsu had been orphaned young, and raised for a while by an engineer for heavy-duty equipment, like cranes and bulldozers. After the man had died, Tatsu somehow wound up in with them sooner or later, and fell to what he could find that might tick with this knowledge. Give him a big engine and he could dismantle it in moments, but portable appliances like these took him some tinkering. His help with people's car troubles in the off town they entered usually earned him his keep and then some, and this was more of a hobby to help him get by in between. For a while, he and Tatsu had joked about his last name, as the older boy had forgotten it somewhere down the line; if asked for a full introduction, he referred to himself as 'Tatsu Something'. He occasionally had moments where he thought he was starting to remember, but it had so far evaded him every time.

"I'm like, THIS close to making that model helicopter fly around."

Crispin whistled. "That'll make for some big bucks later. What do you need?"

"I just need to figure out a fix for the split gearshaft." Tatsu glanced at the toy in question, which looked to be ready in all regards.

"I can find you some sap or clay if you need glue." Crispin suggested.

Tatsu gave his head a shake. "It'll take a full replacement. Thanks anyways, Crispy." The handyman watched as his friend stood and made for the door already. "Hungry?"

"Starved."

"Enjoy your picnic, then." Crispin scaled the outside of the caravan while Tatsu opened the hatch in the ceiling, only so they could still talk. Setting down atop the vehicle, Crispin took the small bag off his back and emptied his pockets to find the berries, herbs and other edible things he'd taken from the forest during the outing. He hadn't earned a meal in the case of the deer, so he would get none out of it; his consistent failure to do this had made him nearly vegetarian by now. Sitting cross-legged on his perch, he chewed on the end of a sanguine sprout, letting the bitter taste spread. Vivily, Medra, and his stepmother would be eating mouth-watering venison that night.

As the sun set, the camp was lively as ever, and Crispin ate his meager rations while watching his 'family' scurry about. Nothing really seemed out of place, but something was nagging at the back of his conscience...


	3. Chapter 3

**Seclusion**

Hours well before first light each morning, Medra woke, getting Vivily and heading a ways from camp to train. Crispin got up around the same time ever since he came to know this, just to watch, even though he knew it would only make him more envious... he got to see a basic regimen much like the kind of practice he was given before his father gave up on him –though, she got a bit of swordplay in –but the past month or so they had been trekking farther from home; he couldn't spy on them unless he followed. The reason they distanced themselves more now was possibly because they realized what he was doing, so now he just got up to watch them go, lingering on where the two vanished from sight for a few moments longer each time he lost track.

"You've gotten thinner."

He heard from his right, the caravan Vivily had come from. Vivily's mother, Trillia, stood seeing her daughter and his father disappear as often as Crispin did; she had those same blue-specked green eyes and much longer, finer hair of a light red, falling in a curtain behind clothes that didn't fit her. She looked kind of like a highborn wearing the type of ragged outsider clothes such people would mock, and her offspring inherited most of her impressive facial features from here, though mother had less symmetry in that department and age lines were just beginning to show. Letting Vivily take to training under Medra allowed Trillia to partake in anything either of them earned, so the woman was more family to his father than Crispin was, eating the meals brought back and so on –he suspected this was an attempt to court the woman, as Crispin's own mother had passed away. This was also the reason he ignored any and all kindness thrown his way by Trillia, as he couldn't help but see the ulterior motive of sucking up to dear old dad, through his failure of a son.

She had a point though. Crispin set a hand over his stomach, feeling like it shrank even after the handful of berries eaten only minutes ago. "Does that surprise you?"

"Of course not... I think I'm the only one to notice your seat is empty at the dinner table, to be honest." It was finally time to stop staring into the distance, and acknowledge each other visually. She was giving Crispin a sad look, like she cared, as she gestured to the caravan. "I'm making the rest into stew for tonight and tomorrow. Would you like some?"

"Probably tastes like shit. I'll have to pass." His stomach didn't just growl, but let loose a groan of despair at the words, and Crispin turned to walk away in hopes of quelling the noise. Suddenly, his ear was caught in a vice grip, and he was being led back just as quickly.

Trillia opened the door to the tiny, homely caravan filled with tapestries and linens that were sewn and woven into cloth of at least a dozen colors. She sat him down less than gently, and he was ready to start yelling when she turned on him with fierce irritation. "Empty your pockets."

"What?"

"Don't 'what?' me; empty your pockets. On the table." He removed the mild variety of herbs, spices, roots, nuts, and what few berries remained to be rationed for the next few days. She picked through it with an expression he now couldn't place. Was she ever going to make up her mind? "These, these and those."

She pointed to different leaves and the berries. He gave her a head tilt. "Lapis Mint, Sprigstep and Bloomberries?"

She nodded. "Find me more of each, and anything with a lot of color pigment. You can bring me what I need for dyes in bulk, some seasoning for the stew, and I'll feed you as a thank-you. If you think it'll taste like shit, maybe we should do something about it." Crispin considered the proposal, as it was payment for service –something his dad would probably try but fail to argue with. It wasn't as if he had anything to lose...

"I'm not supposed to wander out alone."

"You do it all the time. Don't need to let that stop you now." She smiled and winked, in the way of an adult confiding in a child, and he was won over.

Sighing to keep a facade of no real commitment, he got out of the seat she forced him to take. "How long til' you need the seasoning?"

"A couple of hours. Three, tops." She shooed him on toward the door, and he waved with a lack of enthusiasm. "Don't stray too far."

"Sure thing, mo –... Trillia." He emphasized her name when he corrected himself, even though he had originally been calling her 'mom' out of sarcasm, and refrained from slamming the door behind him over his own mistake that made him angry. It didn't take him too long to calm himself, and soon the woods were beckoning, Crispin getting his knives from where he stashed them above Tatsu's caravan before answering the call.

* * *

><p>Unfolding the pressed, tanned hide of a deer from his pack, Crispin re-folded it so only a localized area –fifty meters each way –near the camp was shown on the map he'd etched into the improvised vellum. He hadn't precisely mapped the southeastern parts that were actually close at hand, so he decided to start there, stenciling in with a piece of charcoal what little he'd already seen from a distance, not ready to scratch anything permanent yet. There was a patch of whitewood between the pines, which was a type that survived out here as a delicacy for termites, which in turn made for good real estate as far as bird nests went. The majority of birds in this region laid eggs with blue-tinged shells that might be good for dyes, and eggs for breakfast sounded awesome, but he would make that a side-quest for now since there was no way to know if he could find eggs at the right stage of incubation. Ground level, the place should have had a higher concentration of Mint as opposed to Sprigstep, and Bloomberry bushes would probably be a tad farther out from his target area. There were other things to simply grab if they came into sight, though; it wasn't as if the forest was barren.<p>

He was travelling in common with the slope, as southwest was downhill and northeast was uphill, he was staying level. Already he'd stopped a few times to pick Lapis Mint as he thought he would, as well as scratch a landmark down on his map before moving far enough from camp for it not to be in eyeshot. There was an offshoot from the river that ran down from above, crossing his path but not deep enough to be of any real note, and he stopped at a stepping stone to survey either side. He'd come to the actual river in a few minutes, though, and didn't plan to cross if there was no simple way nearby.

Some of the others from camp had been through here, just a few, and hadn't stayed long before turning back; fetching water, no doubt, and he could see Vivily's shoeprints mixed in from having escorted. Still somewhat fresh, even though she couldn't have come here this morning, so it must have been late last night. Crispin moved on, choosing against checking what could have been a snake's den for roots along the way. It was when he came to a set of Evervene trees, tightly packed together, that something stood out to him. It looked like there was a spot between the trees where something had been kept out of sight, like a stash, but it was too early for any animals to be storing for winter and whatever had been stored here had been moved since.

"... huh." This looked like it was the work of a person, actually, which was unusual to say the least. The only signs of passage to and from this location seemed to be from uphill, on an angle toward the river he hadn't quite reached, and it took a moment to even pick up these signs as they were miniscule.

The trail led up through denser resistance, not coming right up next to the river but within a good dozen meters. Leading due north, Crispin slipped under a low-hanging branch and crouched to take another look, be certain he was still accurate, and found another half-impression of a foot. Sitting there for a moment, he couldn't shake the feeling he was getting. It was a lot like yesterday's; just an abstract feeling of unease. For someone to be living permanently out here was far-fetched, but not entirely out of the question. That was when he came upon a realization, and a subsequent one that made his blood run cold.

The traces he was following looked almost as if the one that left them had been trying not to, or in other words, had been trying to prevent someone like him from following –however, they were too consistent to be unnatural in that case. This trail was falsified, a curious anomaly left to lure in someone who could actually see it in the first place.

Slowly, Crispin took some weeds near at hand as if he'd been looking for these, and made to turn back. The moment he began to face the way he'd come, something whistled past his face, and he fell back when trying to instinctually back away from where danger had just been. Stepping on the side of his foot, Crispin's ankle gave out and he fell backwards, tumbling downhill for a moment until he dug his fingers into the soil and stopped. A glance up revealed three men wearing bark-colored cloaks and leathers, hoods up and crossbows pointed at him. Another bolt whizzed past his head, glancing off the top of his shoulder and drawing blood.

He didn't bother to stand at first; instead rolling with the decline until he was off the path they had trapped him with. Shoving his map into his shirt, Crispin stood hastily and knew based on the slope where he was headed, but it was off the terrain he had previously gone over. There was a pothole that took him by surprise, and after barely recovering from the near fall from that he tripped on an overturned log. Crispin cursed and flailed to keep his balance as he flew over the object, almost shattering his big toe from the impact with it. There was a momentary pause of clenching his teeth, shutting his eyes tightly against crying out, and he was back on the run.

The ones behind him were making a lot of noise now that they had lost sight of him, sacrificing stealth for speed now that he was aware. There were two more that jumped down from the canopy to his right side, one of which caught the hem of Crispin's shirt and jammed the head of his crossbow into the boy's ribs. Crispin elbowed the weapon aside as the trigger was pulled, and drawing the knife from his leg shoved the blade into the man's forearm.

The blade bounced off, as if meeting a force field. He contained his shock just long enough to take a swipe at the person's shadowed face, causing him to rear back and let go.

Crispin turned away and continued to use the downhill momentum to escape. Soon he would be getting so far from camp that it would be counterproductive to continue, but right now, he was more worried about getting shot because of leaving the denser brush. Another bolt flew by, and he accidentally stabbed a tree with the knife still in hand when the close call startled him. It was in deep, and after two tries he was forced to leave it behind.

He picked up the pace, forcing branches aside as he fled only to find the main body of the river. It had hung a turn rather than running straight, and now stood blocking his way, so he followed it downstream instead, keeping close to the tree line in case he needed to make a dive for cover. The distance he'd put between himself and his pursuers was a decent one now, but he could still hear them hard on his heels, barking something he couldn't quite understand to one another.

Suddenly, one of the cloaked ones lunged from the fringe up ahead, and Crispin was tackled at the waist. The two went down wrestling for a good hold, Crispin trying to throw him off but the man got a grip on the front strap of Crispin's knife sheath. Facing the man as they both lay prone, Crispin turned and kicked as hard as he could for the face, hearing a crunch as blood sprayed to the side of his boot. He kicked again, and again, knowing he'd broken the guy's nose the first time but he still wouldn't relinquish the strap. Finally, the last kick freed him by snapping the leather band, and he threw himself back just enough to wind up in the shallow water's edge. His assailant was diving for him with a shattered face even after this, teeth stained red and eyes wide.

Hands on his throat. The man squeezed and pushed down from standing above Crispin's chest, submerging him in the cold river by deepening his back in the mud beneath them. Struggling, lights flashed from above the water and whatever was happening there became obscured as his efforts formed ripples. Clawing at the attacker's wrists, eyes, and pushing at his face, Crispin's arms were shorter since he was only fifteen –much smaller than the one trying to kill him. Fighting his own instincts, Crispin let go of the man's hands to search out a decent sized stone in the water nearby, clutching one just large enough to be of use and swinging it into the side of his attacker's knee. It buckled, and the guy dropped lower on that side, so he punched below the belt where the man's genitals should have been. The vise eased around his throat, Crispin inhaling on impulse only to get a lungful of water.

Swatting his attacker anywhere he could with the rock, the feeble attempts bore some fruit as the individual let go with one hand just to grab Crispin's and try to pry the stone from it. Getting his face just above water, he coughed, and spat into the man's eye, getting the opportunity to reach for the knife in his shoulder holster. The attacker backed off seeing the weapon in hand, and Crispin scuttled away, still hacking up liquid. He hadn't been looking where he was going, only away from the unknown person, and wound up caught in the stream against his will. Freezing all over now, he felt the back of his neck collide with something, thrashing in the current that was swallowing him up.

A bolt missed him, plunking as it hit the water just centimeters from his arm. The unpredictable ways he was being dragged by the current and the limited visibility from the foam of surging water made him a hard target, but his head was the most vulnerable even though it was the most important to keep above the surface.

The cloaked figure stopped firing, instead watching in silence as Crispin was helplessly drawn away by the forces of nature.


End file.
